The Muggleborn Approach
by islandpooka
Summary: Imagine a Muggleborn attending Hogwarts at the same time as the Next Gen. They're seeing ghosts of the Order, professors who were once students, and introducing their culture to the wizarding culture. Inspired and based on Tumblr inspirations and comic strips. This is a fun distraction I write between WIPs. SPORADIC UPDATES.
1. Charlotte Goes to Magic School

**A/N: So, this is unlike anything I've written previously. I'm generally a Dramione writer, but I keep seeing these ridiculous, hilarious Tweets and Tumblr posts about what Muggle-borns would have been like at Hogwarts and the endless Dumbledore-as-a-disaster-of-a-headmaster-and-generally-profane comics and posts soooo I decided to work that into this story. It's based on an OC who is a First Year the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Somethings that are non-canon include a Weasley professor, a deceased character who comes back as a ghost who is the tumblr-version of themselves, not the Rowling-version. I'm not sure how often I'll update, it'll sort of depend on the responses, but I think this could be a fun piece to work on.**

"So… We just walk through it?"

"I guess?"

"It looks awfully solid."

"It does."

"Maybe we can just ease through it? Maybe try putting a hand through or somethi-"

A woman in a fuschia cloak runs at the brick wall with a young girl and trolley and disappears into the bricks.

"Huh. I guess it works."

HPHPHPHP

A ghost with a long beard and half-moon glasses perched on the tip of its nose is leaning against the wall. Strange, since the other ghosts were passing through the walls easily. Perhaps the ghost just wanted to appear as though it was leaning and simply posed that way? Certainly seemed like a lot of work to look nonchalant.

"Ah, the new students," the ghost comments cheerfully. "You'll enjoy the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Not who I would have chosen, but there's no accounting for taste."

A tall, lean wizard stops next to the ghost and narrows his eyes. "Really? Really, Professor? You hired a man who had Voldemort on the back of his head, a flagrant liar who is now in Saint Mungo's for life, a woman who tortured students for detention, a Death Eater, a second Death Eater, who killed you I might add, and a werewolf, and the werewolf was the best of the bunch! Now you're going to question their choice of me?"

My jaw drops open and my eyes go wide. What kind of school is this?

The bearded ghost gives a withering look to the red-haired man. "Well you learned well enough from my professors to become one yourself, didn't you, Mr. Weasley?"

The red-haired man rolls his eyes. "It's Professor now, Professor. And yes, I learned. I learned a lot. Luckily, I obtained most of my schooling prior to Harry Potter's arrival and was able to have a relatively uninterrupted education. I also had the pleasure to learn under the tutelage of the _real_ Alastor Moody."

"He was a wonderful professor here," the ghost says with a sigh.

"He was _never_ a professor here. He spent a year in a trunk whilst a Death Eater plucked out nearly half of his hair for Polyjuice Potion."

My eyes widen some more.

"Yes, yes, but still. The children learned."

I snort. I can't help it.

The ghost and professor turn to look at me and I blush, turning back to the gaggle of students waiting to enter the big doors.

"Right. Sorting." Professor Weasley walks to the doors and gestures for all of us first years to shush.

Then, the doors open.

HPHPHPHPHP

 _Welcome, welcome students new_

 _I have a brand new song for you_

 _Here at Hogwarts you will see_

 _The Houses in which you all will be_

 _Gryffindor for the brave and proud_

 _A tight knit group and oh so loud_

 _Ravenclaw for the curious who_

 _Are wiser than the rest of you_

 _Slytherin that quick and cunning team_

 _They climb so high, they're rarely seen_

 _Hufflepuff is for students, all_

 _So honest, kind, and on the ball_

 _The houses are for points and games,_

 _They'll give you pride, yes! Rarely shame_

 _Do not divide yourselves by house_

 _You all wear the same pants and blouse_

 _So unite as one and you will see_

 _How wonderful life at Hogwarts can be._

"Bloody awful, that was," says a student seated at one of the tables.

"I heard the old hat took a rather nasty spell. Dumbledore's been telling everyone that the hat went batty. Guess it's true," says another.

"Wonder if that hat will start spitting out Founder heirlooms instead of saying the names," the first student chuckles.

I turn to the boy behind me.

"Do we have to put that old hat on?"

"Of course you do," the boy grunts. "It's the Sorting Hat. How else will you know what house you belong in?"

"But what if it has lice? Also, doesn't dividing us into different houses force us to identify as smart or brave or cunning or just...miscellaneous? Wouldn't it be better to let us figure out our strengths on our own?"

The boy grunts again and turns away. I stare at the hat again and shudder. My mother is a primary school teacher and I've seen lice outbreaks. Flashbacks of ultra-fine combs and the search for nits flitted through my memory. I shudder again.

"Angelthorpe, Charlotte!" The red headed professor is reading from an old-timey looking parchment and I jump when he shouts my name.

"Yes?"

The boy from before shoves me towards the stool and the ratty old hat. I shuffle up and try not to grimace as the hat descends onto my head.

"Ah, what do we have here," the Hat says, not making this at all less uncomfortable. "A half-blood with a lot of drive, shame you're not pure enough for those picky ickle snakes."

I glance over and see some insulted looking students at the table with the snake badges. I wondered what the hat meant by "half-blood".

"Ooh, smart, yes. But are you smart enough for Ravenclaw? Probably not. You're not _that_ exceptional."

The students at the table with eagle badges look smug. Pricks.

"You're not quite bland enough for Hufflepuff, so I guess it'll have to be GRYFFINDOR!"

The table just in front me with the lions on their chests cheer and welcome me into one of the free spots near the end of the table.

I wasn't entirely certain, but I was quite sure that barmy old hat had insulted me, rather gravely.

The sorting went rather quickly with a seemingly equal number of boys and girls going to each house. Secretly, I wondered what would happen if every first year had been cunning, or if all of them had been nerdy. Would they all be sorted by their secondary leanings to keep the houses equal?

The older lady, Professor MacGoogle or something, was giving a speech, but I couldn't stop looking around the Great Hall. Ghosts were hanging out in the middle of tables and you could tell who else wasn't from magical families because they were glancing over nervously and waiting for some seriously spooky stuff to happen. There were candles just floating in the sky. I wondered if I could emulate that in my bedroom with some fishing line and LED candles. I also wondered if the wax would drip on us. That didn't sound pleasant, but I assumed it would be taken care of because, you know, magic.

Next thing I know, the headmistress is clapping and this feast just appears out of nowhere. I jump back because, hello? Food just appeared. Out of nowhere. But everyone else is just like "cheers, mate!" and digs in. I poke at a turkey leg with my fork before being satisfied that it's real and not some sort of bizarre hologram.

Slowly, carefully, I take a bite.

It's good. Really, really good.

I rip into the feast like my parents have been starving me for the past decade, not giving a rat's tail about whether or not I look cool. This food is good, this food is magic, and it KEEPS. REAPPEARING.

I love magic.


	2. Charlotte Begins Classes

The dormitories are unbelievable.

I watched the badger patched students -- Huffintuff? -- leave the Great Hall and immediately veer into their rooms behind a tapestry, so I assumed all of the houses would be similarly close to the Hall.

Boy, was I wrong.

Twenty minutes later, after nearly being thrown off of a MOVING staircase (and hurling over the edge, stupid pumpkin pasties...hope I didn't hit anyone) and climbing to what felt like the peak of Everest, we ended up in front of a rather large woman in some feathered pink silk gown. The Gryffindor prefect, Prudence Edgecombe, said "Gillyweed" loudly enough for all of us to hear, whatever that meant, and the pink-swathed lady nodded before her frame swung open, revealing a tunnel behind it.

"It is important that you remember the passwords. Do not write them down. If you forget, make sure you have someone with you who does remember."

Well, it was easier than keys. I lost those all the time. To be honest, I was lucky I even heard what she said, though I had no idea what a gillyweed was, because I was breathing harder than a forty year smoker after climbing those stairs. A second year Gryffindor, Jimmy or Jack or some other J name, had looked confused when I asked what we would do for a physical education class before asking if I meant flying. The thought of floating around shocked me so awfully that I just stared, jaw open, until he turned to talk to some red headed girl who had been sorted last.

The first year girls had four poster beds circling their dorm room, their trunks at the foot, curtains tied back with scarlet sashes. The red headed girl bounced over to her trunk and released her owl from it's cage. It was a tiny little thing that struggled to hop out of the cage, but appeared thrilled to see its owner.

"Alright there, Pig?"

I squinted at the owl, apparently named Pig, before making my way to my trunk and pulling out my pajamas. The pet options had all seemed strangely exciting to me, however my mother's cat allergy, hatred of toads, and wariness of all birds meant that I was pet-less. Sad, but maybe I could convince them to get me a quiet owl like Pig.

Some of the girls chatted quietly while I dug into my trunk. I've never been much for people, preferring to observe things. Tomorrow would bring, I hoped, some excellent observation opportunities.

HPHPHPHP

The red haired girl was going through our schedules aloud the following morning, allowing me to chow down on some rashers and eggs instead of reading.

"So, it looks like we've got double Astronomy first with Hufflepuff,"

That's what it was! Hufflepuff. I rather preferred Huffntuff, but that was just me.

"And after break we have double Potions with Slytherin, ugh, then lunch. After lunch is study hall and we finish with Flying."

My pumpkin juice shot across the table, drenching some unsuspecting black puddings with bogie-flecked pumpkin froth. My housemates glared and the platter of black pudding disappeared.

Flying sounded awful. I was having nightmares of Willy Wonka style floating into fans after drinking the fizzy lifting drink. No, thank you. I would much rather leave my feet upon the ground.

"Flying frighten you?"

I nearly fell backwards after the bespectacled ghost from the night before appeared in front of me, rising from the table.

"It probably should. Terribly dangerous thing, flying. After some student shenanigans in the 1970s involving Ogdens and a fire that nearly burnt down the Forbidden Forest, we started requiring permission slips for trips to the village. And yet, Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, nearly died his first year chasing the Malferret on a broom, broke his arm second year, fell off again in third year when the dementors attacked, but I was able to stop him before he died. 10 points to Dumbledore, if I do say so myself. The Whomping Willow destroyed his broom though. Yes, terribly dangerous thing, flying. And yet, we still don't require permission slips. Odd."

The ghost, Dumbledore she guessed, floated away, leaving me with a spinning head. What kind of bleeding institution had my parents let me attend?! Students chasing animals, being attacked by the demented, trees that apparently break things… Although, he had said "broom". Brooms, somehow, sounded significantly safer than fizzy lifting drinks.

HPHPHPHP

Astronomy was a strange course to learn in the early morning light, but the professor had it covered.

Professor Sinistra joked that she would make the room as dark as her skin, and boy was she right. The blinds all snapped shut, winking out every bit of light and causing more than a few students to gasp. Someone farted. Fear gets to all of us sometimes, I guess.

Suddenly, sparks begin to fly from her wand and formed into constellations we all recognize: Orion and his belt, the big spoon, the little spoon, and then more and more fill the "sky".

"In this class, you will learn the names and movements of the stars and planets. For thousands of years, man and centaur have used the night sky to divine life's truths. This is a class that will require much of your brain and none of your wands so you can tuck them away."

There was an audible slumping of shoulders as all of the excited lions and badgers tucked away their wands. It was their first lesson ever, and they weren't going to be doing any magic. What a waste.

Professor Sinistra showed that it wasn't quite a waste.

We didn't get the chance to do any magic, but they got to watch Professor Sinistra create beauty in stars. Sitting in her room was like sitting in a galaxy. It was beautiful and wonderful and beyond my greatest imaginings.

After warning us to guard our eyes, Professor Sinistra whipped up the curtains and we were reminded that it was still early in the morning. The lack of practical magic had been disappointing, but Professor Sinistra's lecture had been so enjoyable, we hadn't minded. At least, I hadn't. As it turns out, when teachers use magical balls of light take the form of the mythical figures they're named for and begin charging across the "sky".

HPHPHPHP

The end of the Astronomy led to one terrible realization: our next class was Potions. Located in the dungeons.

It seemed I was right: as an alternative to physical education, our exercise would come from the endless stair walking each day. To give an idea of what this entailed, Hogwarts is a large castle that would put the castles of Germany to shame. Astronomy, understandably, takes place in the highest tower Hogwarts has, more than twelve stories on its own. The main portion of the castle is four floors, with the dungeons another few stories down, under the surface of the lake.

My legs, by the time I get to the Potions classroom, are as jelly-like as some of the bizarre ingredients I saw in the potions shop in Diagon Alley. I attempt to regain my breath subtly.

It doesn't matter.

Everyone is huffing and puffing.

I wonder if that's where the Hufflepuffs got their names. They don't live in the towers, have to climb less steps, maybe they breath harder? Who knows.

I'm about to walk into the classroom to attempt my next class when fireworks erupt in the hallway. Most of the students shriek, but Rose spins on a heel a looks down the hall.

"Uncle Fred, I know that's you."

A ghost pops into appearance and "leans" against the wall.

"Mooorning," says the ghost.

He's different than most of the ghosts we've seen around. He's not dressed in old fashioned clothes, and he's young. Really young.

He's not child young, but he's a very young adult. I cock my head and examine him. He has a wide grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes. His nose is very like the nose of the unflappable Rose in front of him.

"We're trying to get to class and I don't want to make a bad impression on my professors."

The ghost smirks and waves her on, looking after her fondly.

I'm left to wonder why Rose's uncle is a ghost.


End file.
